


End of the Tour.

by Ook



Series: Tourist [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Escape, Hurt/Comfort, JFC Creepy!Erik get out of my brain, Loki is not a nice person; pissing him off is a bad idea, MPD, Past Abuse, Rape Recovery, Vengeance is mine, did, fluffy fluffy fluff, sayeth the Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:59:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The multiple endings of Bedroom Tour, explored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape from the Palace

**Author's Note:**

> First up- Charles/Songbird manage to shoot Erik dead, and run into Tony, while trying to get out of the Palace.

Tony is more than somewhat surprised, on one of his goodwill for the company and get-out-of-Pep's way tours, (factory location scouting tours as he usually calls them) to run into any friend of his, butt naked, scared out of his damn mind and running through the halls of Genosha's Palace, having just shot the King. Well. Most of his friends, anyway. Because neither Nat nor Clint would lose their clothes in the process and not be able to find them again, and Bruce, Thor and Cap aren't known for their assassinry. This friend? Yeah, running into him like this is pretty surprising.

Mostly because Charles is dead.

Also because Charles never looked like the assassin type to Tony during their time at college, whatever people say about killer eyes. But mostly, yeah, it's the dead thing. Still, Tony's been dead himself, although he was only dead for six months. Charles managed a _year_. Overachiever. 

“How did you survive the crash?”  
“I-I-I t-t-told you, T-t-tony.” Charles says, stubbornly, despite the fact that he can't or won't look Tony in the eye. “You have to go; it's not safe. There's g-g-going to be-”  
“A power struggle, yeah.” Tony says, wrapping Charles in his suit jacket. Or trying to; Charles rears back as if Tony was... well, as if he was a threat. He tries not to feel hurt.

“Do not disrespect the suit, kid, it's Tom Ford.” Tony says, mock-chidingly. Only, it seems, not mock enough, because Charles goes green, and falls to the floor, shaking.  
“Hey.” Tony says, gently. He can do gentle; just ask Cap about his first mobile phone, and it's sad fate. Charles honest to god _whimpers_ as Tony squats down to be near him.  
“Charles.” Tony says. “It's me. Your pal Anthony from Bio 101. Yeah? I'm not... I'm never going to hurt you.”

“Yes.” Charles whispers to his knees. “I... remember that. I do.”  
“Can you tell me how... how you're not dead, yet?” Tony says, still gently, and refrains from asking about the goddamn bird tattoos. Charles is still shaking like a leaf.  
“He.” Charles says, to his knees. “He, he, collected me. F-f-faked the, the d-d-death.”  
“God.” Tony says. “Who? Why?” he bits off the _what did they do to you?_ because one, it is obvious, some of it, and the rest can damn well _wait._

“E-e-erik.” Charles says, after a pause. “Because, because... he w-w-wanted-”  
“Ok.” Tony says, rapidly. “Ok, tell me the rest later. First we gotta get you out of here.”  
“M-m-e?” Charles quavers, and Tony really has to try very hard not to lose his temper. It's obvious Charles has had his head messed with.  
“Yeah, you. I'm not leaving without you, there's this ninety year old teenager who'd be very disappointed in me. Actually, I'd be disappointed in me too.” Tony says, and offers Charles his jacket. “Also, please put this on, you're making me feel cold just looking at you.”

Tony watches Charles fumble himself into the jacket and fail, badly, at getting the buttons fastened. He runs a hand through his hair, and starts thinking again. He's got to get Charles out of the Palace and, preferably onto the jet, without attracting attention. Tricky. It's not like he's got another suit he can wrap Charles up it and explain him away as an assistant.

Wait. 

Another suit?

Tony begins to grin.

 

“Charles.” he says. “Have I ever talked to you about being Iron Man?” He reaches out, absently, to fasten up the jacket. Charles gazes up at him like a little kid in awe of Santa.  
“No?” he says, carefully, like he's afraid it's a trick question.  
“You've never wondered about how I get into the suit in a hurry?”  
“No. Sorry.” Charles says again, shrinking into himself.

“Charles.” Tony says, grandly, and carefully not throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Let me show you.” Tony pulls off the bracelets he always, always wears now (thanks, Loki) and offers them to Charles. Charles looks at them, but does not touch, and it makes Tony's chest ache almost as bad as the palladium, to see how Charles' natural curiosity has been quenched, along with everything else.  
“Can you put them on, prof?” he says, eyeing the scars and red bands of chafing that already encircle Charles' wrists.

Charles snaps them over his scars like he's afraid Tony will hurt him if he doesn't do what he says.  
“Now, they... send a signal.” Tony says, rapidly adapting his speech to someone at a Cap-level comprehension of Tony's science genius. “And the suit, it locks on. It ought to fit you; you're still smaller than me, squirt.” Charles blinks at him. “So the suit will come flying and wrap you up in it, all safe and snug. No one will be able to see it's you in there, under all the metal and paint.

“Oh.” Charles breathes. “Oh.” His eyes are shining.  
“I gotta deactivate the weaponry- Jarvis, can you deactivate-”  
“Of course, sir.” says a tinny voice from Tony's pocket. “It's done.” Charles gapes, sadly puzzled by talking clothes. Is he ever in for a surprise, Tony thinks, and the suit arrives, whirling itself into place around Charles, who sighs like it's the best thing ever.

Tony has to admit, once again, that his suit pretty much _is._ the best thing ever.

“Ok?” Tony says, only a little worried. There aren't many people, apart from Rhodey, he'd trust with his stuff, but... Charles was one of them. Is one of them.  
“That voice in your ear, that's Jarvis.” Tony says. “You remember Jarvis, right?” There's a dull clank, and Jarvis' voice says, as the suit helmet wobbles, slightly  
“Mr Xavier just attempted to nod, sir.” Charles says nothing. Tony coughs.

“Right, Jarvis- pick up the other briefcase and follow my lead. If things get weird, fly him straight out to the Helicarrier. I'll take the jet.”  
“Very good sir.” Jarvis says. Charles says something, quietly.  
“What?”  
“Mr Xavier is mostly saying the word “Thank you” repeatedly.” Jarvis says, as if he's the imperturbable AI he pretends to be.  
“O...kay.” Tony says. “Let's do this.” They walk.

Already, there's something afoot. The Palace hums, and little troops of people trot back and forth. Tony eyes the security guards as if he is Tony Motherfucking Stark, which he kinda is, actually, except when Captain America can hear him, these days. One set of security people, near the doors, tries to stop him, which, yeah, _no_  
“Just taking my suit out for a spin.” he says, and swaggers on, Jarvis walking the suit carrying Charles past them like he's not even there. Which he is not. Of course.

The trip to the airport is uneventful, apart from Jarvis' worrying report on Charles' vital signs. The man is either having a slow panic attack, or is reaching the end of his ability to cope, very fast. Tony texts Bruce, who replies that Jarvis alerted them all half an hour ago, and there's a medical kit waiting, and what kind of trouble has Tony got himself into _now?_. Tony doesn't reply. They'll be home soon enough


	2. A New Acquistion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but Erik being reeaaaaly creepy in this one. Set a few years after the events of Bedroom Tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW? Uh, Erik's thought processes when considering acquiring someone?

Erik considers the woman sitting across from him again. She’s a good age- not so young as to cause outrage or too much interest when she vanishes, not so old as to be un-mouldable. The file he commissioned covers her lack of important family or influential connections. No one is likely to come looking for her, or examin the body he can provide too closely. And she’s good looking, with a strong chin and a stubborn strength in her eyes that he’s going to _love_ to watch crumble, over the next few months. He resolves to take things slowly, this time. Too much too fast has always been Erik’s problem- not all his acquisitions can adapt to doing things his way in time.

“Look, I’m sorry.” She is saying, and drumming her fingers on the table. Erik considers removing her fingernails one by one. “But I really don’t understand why I’ve been detained. Or what you’re doing here.”  
“What I’m doing here?” he says, amused. She gives him a narrow, calculating look. Abruptly, Erik wants to see her spread out beneath him, screaming in pleasure. He shifts, slightly and offers her a smile.

“You’re Erik of Genosha.” She tells him, as if he didn’t know his own name. Erik knows exactly who he is. He always has.  
“And you are a woman with a problematic visa.” He observes. Moira McTaggert sighs.  
“I did everything the form said I needed to.” Erik nods. Maybe she will learn to enjoy being on her knees. It’s happened before, although Jean was younger. She looks like she’ll last a while.

“Look.” Moira says, briskly, and Erik finds her much more annoying. He always hates the ones who don’t know how to tremble. It’s why he picked the man who became his masterpiece.  
“My friend died in Genosha, a few years back. I came to, to pay my respects, I suppose. To say-“  
“Goodbye?” Erik says, with rising interest. He knew she knew his Charles, but hadn’t realised how much he was still around, in the minds of the outside world. He’s been dead out there for a while.

“Not goodbye.” She says, and Erik jerks. Was there a problem, with the corpse? With the belongings? _What does she suspect?_  
“Just… farewell, and fare forwards, I guess.” And Erik breathes out. That had been a little unnerving. She’ll have to be punished, for that. She looks like she’ll be pretty when she cries.  
“So- what, am I about to be deported?” Moira says. Erik smiles, and sighs, happily. He always loves this part.

“No.” he says, gently.  
“What?” Moira snaps. “Look, I’m a US Citizen, I entered this country-“ Erik waves her to silence.  
“No, you’re not.” He says, over her stutters. He leans forward and gives her his best smile. It's time to welcome another piece into his Collection.

“What you are, Moira McTaggert? Is _mine._ "


	3. Avengers Tower-1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony settles Charles into the tower. The Avengers decide what movie to watch. Somehow that results in Songbird changing his name.

Charles and Songbird like the Avengers Tower. It’s large, but it’s nothing like the Palace. All the walls are windows, for a start, and everyone there is able to look at him. And talk to him. To them, actually. Songbird isn’t used to people spotting him, and he finds it difficult; but so far, everyone’s been nice. No one makes sudden moves toward them; no one tries to touch him, without a warning, and there are no locked doors anywhere, except the ones Jarvis manages, and Jarvis always opens every door he can when Charles is around, unless he asks him not to. Tony teaches them both all the codes on the first day, when he can’t get out of the corner of his room for longer than two minutes without hyperventilating.

Tony is very understanding.

He redesigned their rooms, the first night they got here, and it was done in two days. There are no doors at all, anywhere in it, except to the bathroom. That has a drop bar on the inside, and can’t be locked at all, from the outside. The wall is made of special armoured glass, that Charles and Songbird can look out of but no one can see in. They’re almost the top floor, anyway, so people would have to be able to fly to get in, but still. It’s the thought that counts. Sometimes Charles sits in front of his windows all day, and looks at everyone below him, the cars and the people, and the entire city spread at his feet, and it’s calming.

There are no beds or chairs or benches in his room, either. He has beanbags. Biiig beanbags, and huge, fluffy blankets. Songbird likes to curl up in them; it’s almost like being hugged, but not restrictive. Charles likes the way they hold his shape; it’s proof that he’s been there after he goes. And they are comfortable and warm, but he can’t be tied to them, and they don’t come to pieces that could be used to hurt him, either. Pepper found the company that makes them, and she got them to deliver overnight. Pepper isn’t around much.

He’s got to know all of the Avengers, too. They live in Tony’s tower, but they don’t mind him being there, too. Not after Tony tells them a bit about what happened. Why the world thinks he’s dead. Why Genosha is imploding, and why Charles wakes up screaming most nights. No one asks any questions, but Natasha offers to teach them self defence, which she does, without touching them once. Dr Banner sits with Charles when he goes blurry and can’t think or talk, and Songbird is asleep. He makes good tea.

Charles isn’t ready to not be dead yet. He’d have to tell Raven who touched her, and he’d have to, to find a way of not telling her about anything that happened to him. Songbird isn’t ready to look after Charles in the outside world yet. He doesn’t know enough about it; he knows how to protect Charles, but not how to pay rent or go grocery shopping yet. Charles thinks that’s too hard right now, anyway. And he’s worried that Raven won’t like or understand Songbird, and Songbird needs her to like him, almost as much as Charles needs him. Dr Banner spotted Songbird, almost as soon as they met. 

_That’s not surprising_ , Charles thinks, as he leans against Songbird and watches the Avengers bicker over film choice. _Dr Banner is two people, too._ The Hulk hides inside Bruce like Songbird hides inside Charles. Songbird wishes he was as good at smashing as the Hulk. No one would be able to hurt Charles then.  
“Hey, what do you two want to watch?” Tony says, and everyone looks at him. Songbird’s tongue freezes to the roof of his mouth. Choices are dangerous things. They might get Charles hurt.  
“W-w-watch?” Charles says for him.

“Movies?” Tony says. “C’mon, my vote is for the new Sherlock Holmes.” Charles blinks.  
“Yeah?” Clint says, restless. “I vote for Brave.” He smiles at them, sweetly. “It’s a Pixar, but it’s good.” He says to Charles and Songbird, gently. Clint has been gentle with both of them since he understood what had happened to them. Other people get pranked, get jumped on from great heights and so on. Clint doesn’t do that to Charles, and Songbird likes him for it. He lets Songbird watch him shoot his arrows, sometimes, on the range.  
“Anything with archery in it, Barton, isn’t it?” Tony grumbles.  
“Brave also has bears,” Dr Banner says, cheerfully. Tony gives him a sour look.

“Isn’t Sherlock Holmes a little dark?” Dr Banner says mildly, next. Natasha shrugs. She frightens Songbird, sometimes, but he doesn’t let anyone know. He doesn’t want anyone to know what frightens him, anymore.  
“Can’t you, uh, adjust the lighting or something?” Captain America says. Tony cackles, which Songbird thinks is mean of him. It’s not Cap’s fault he doesn’t know all the words.  
“Dark means, uh, grim, or sad, or violent.” Charles says, quietly.  
“Thank you, Charles.” Steve says, fervently. “I guess that means I vote for Brave, too.”

“Thor?” Tony says, hopefully.  
“Clint tells me there are scenes of glorious battle in Brave! And a terrible bear!” Thor booms. Songbird likes Thor, too, because he is always bringing food, but doesn’t mind when they don’t want any, and they can also always tell where he is. Thor is _loud._   
“Hey, there’s two of you, now, you should get two votes!” Tony says next. Charles doesn’t know what to say.  
“Uh… shouldn’t the H-h-hulk get a vote, too, them?” Bruce smiles. Tony pouts.

“Aw, come on, Songbird! Charles!” Charles’ breathing starts to misbehave itself.  
“Don’t.” He says, distantly. “Not that name. Not Songbird.”  
“Charles.” Coulson says, suddenly, and he’s in front of him, when did he move. “Can you breathe with me?” Charles can. He nods, shakily. “Can you tell me what the problem is?”  
“My money’s on it being Tony.” Clint says. “Tony’s usually the problem.” Natasha flicks his ear. Coulson doesn’t look round.

“He... Erik used it. The name.” Charles and Songbird say. “All the time. R-r-reminds me.”  
“But you told us, that was your other self’s name.” Thor says, his face twisted in puzzlement. Charles looks at his hands. He’s making a fuss. He doesn’t like it. The others will want to watch the movie. They don’t want to upset anyone.  
“Sorry.” They whisper, curling up.  
“Does he want to keep the name, or would he like another?” Dr Banner says, quietly. His eyes are faintly green.

“Uh.” Songbird had never thought of that. He had been named by Erik, although Erik hadn’t known what he was doing. Erik is dead, now. And maybe what he did to them can die, too. Charles thinks a new name might help them both.  
“Another!” Thor says, gleefully. “Another name for another life!” Even Tony looks happier.  
“What… what should we call me?” Songbird says. He starts thinking.  
“Magni is a good, strong name.” Thor says. “Or Modi.”  
“Isn’t that a fashion magazine?” Steve says, puzzled. Tony cackles, gleefully.

“Can it be… something quiet?” Songbird says, hopefully.  
“It will be whatever you want it to be.” Natasha says, extremely firmly. All the men in the room nod, quickly.  
“Charles.” Coulson says, thoughtfully. “What’s your middle name?”  
“Francis.” He says, absently. Across the room, Clint winces. Coulson smiles.  
“Sound like that might work? It’s already on all your documents.”  
“Francis.” Songbird says, thoughtfully. _It’s a nice name_ he says to Charles.

_A family name_ Charles agrees. They both nod.   
“Francis it is, then.”  
“Right, soooo… Francis?” Tony says. “What film to you want to watch?”  
“Brave.” Francis says, quietly. “We’d- I’d like to watch Brave. Please.” Charles won’t like anything dark, he knows. And s-Francis isn’t that keen on dark things, either. Tony groans, sadly disappointed, but he sits on the couch, tragically defeated, without any more fuss.  
Clint shoots them a big thumbs up.

Jarvis brings up the film. Francis and Charles sit back to watch. Dr Banner passes them the popcorn.


	4. Avengers Tower- Two Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two conversations:
> 
> One:  
> “Jarvis?”  
> “Yes, sirs?”  
> “How can you always tell which of me is speaking?”
> 
>  
> 
> Two:  
> “Oh.” Loki says then. “I did not realise there were two of you in there. To whom do I speak?”  
> “I- we are Charles Francis Xavier.” His fingers fiddle with his shirt cuffs. Loki nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can tell how badly I feel about what Charles went through in the main part of by how much fluff I'm drowning him in now. :)

“Who's in the Tower, today, Jarvis? The AI's voice is warm and reassuring as he replies. Francis usually leaves the questions to Charles; unless either of them think that the question might cause a negative resposnse., in which case Francis steps in to protect him.  
“Doctor Banner is in his lab; he is still running the experiment he began last night, Francis. Ms Romanov and Mr Barton are still away on a mission, and Sir is harassing Captain Rogers and Director Fury in Shield headquarters.”  
“A-a-and the other, other people?”

“The office floors are nearly empty, Charles. There are three vacant floors between them and the Avenger's floors, and no-one is allowed up without the correct codes; except at my discretion.” Charles makes no reply to this, but Jarvis recognises the sudden elevation of his vital signs as indicative of stress and anxiety. Something is worrying one, or both of the professor's personalities.  
“Charles?” he prompts, mildly.

“I- are you sure?”  
“I an very sure, Charles, Francis. Anyone who came up here would have to get through me, first.” Charles and Francis share a quick internal grin. One thing Tony did make sure they both understood, those first bad days when neither of them seemed to be able to so much as move out of the corner without crying or vomiting in terror, was how many options are available to Jarvis, when it comes to enforcing security in his allotted spaces. Another thought strikes Charles, and he voices it, letting it lead them both away from the gnawing anxiety of other people.  
“Jarvis?”  
“Yes, sirs?”

“How can you always tell which of me is speaking?”  
“You have subtly different biorhythms, Charles, to Francis.” Jarvis says. Francis blinks. Charles tells him what biorhythms are, as the AI continues. “And when you are both present, your speech patters vary enough that I can predict who is speaking with reasonable accuracy.”  
“How much is reasonable?” Charles says.  
“97.45 per cent.” Jarvis says, promptly. Francis giggles. There is a little pause, and Charles stares at his hands.  
“Jarvis?”  
“Yes, Charles?” Jarvis is always patient.

“I- we're going to go to the roof garden. If that's, um, allowed, and, and- everything.”  
“I am sure it is, Francis. The weather is particularly fine today.”  
“Nat- Natasha asked me, to re pot s-s-some of the plants.” Charles says, nervously. “I have a diagram.”  
“Yes, sir.” JARVIS says. “Your elevator is here.”

“Are you busy?”  
“Always.” Jarvis says, gravely. “But I always have capacity to talk to you, Charles, Francis.”  
“J-j-just in the lift.” Charles says, ashamed. “We don't like lifts.”  
“Certainly.” Jarvis says, as if there is nothing unusual about a person who is sometimes two people who gets flashbacks roughly half the time he enters a gaddamn _lift_. Charles takes a deep breath.  
“Thank you.” And he and Francis brace themselves for the lift, together.

 

 

Loki is bored. Now that he is no longer possessed by Thanos, and is officially no longer crazy- he has a piece of paper form an expert- he does what he wants on Midgard. Providing he does not truly harm any of the mortals his oafish lout of a not brother seems _so_ fond of; he evades authority well enough. Something about it being better for him to be on the inside pissing out; not that he believes the speaker, a fine if aged matriarch who rules a tiny damp island that makes the most delicious desserts, has ever truly been camping.

So. He is bored. None of his minor plots to create amusing chaos will benefit from his direct attention right now; and Loki finds he no longer has the taste for serious chaos. Perhaps it will return when his exile from Asgard is over. The mortals don't really react amusingly to serious chaos. They pick him up and batter a hole in the floor with him, and so on. Tedious So naturally, his thoughts turn to the merry band known throughout the whole of Midgard as The Avengers. With Loki, sometimes, to think of a thing is to do it. 

Which is how he finds himself stepping out of empty shadowside space and onto the roof garden at Avengers- formerly Stark- Tower. He is surprised not to be immediately challenged by its invisible guardian, but not as surprised as the strange little mortal who is doing something by the greenhouse.  
Said mortal yells, snatches up its shirt and flees. Loki shrugs. The pictures in his skin are pretty; but if he doesn't want people to see them, he doesn't. No need to make such a fuss. Then the mortal indicates all is not well with his mind by trying to flee over the side of the building.  
“We are forty floors up.” Loki says as he uses magic to haul him back before Thor gets annoyed and blames Loki for the stain on the pavements below, and sends the green creature after him again. 

The mortal responds by seemingly forgetting how to breathe.  
“I- I- I-”   
“Oh, stop it, I'm not going to harm you.” Loki snaps. “I am no longer possessed.” He mutters to himself “Nor am I a possession of the house of-”  
“Who are you?” the mortal wheezes, desperately. Loki raises an eyebrow.  
“What have you been doing, this last year, to not know me?” The mortal doesn't respond, too busy simply wheezing some more. He begins to look in serious danger of swooning. Loki lowers the eyebrow- too much work- and flicks a spark of restorative magic at him.

The mortal stops gasping, but instead of leaping about fully fit and well, he sags to his knees and shakes. Well. That shouldn't happen. Loki sighs. At least he isn't bored right now.  
“What in the name of the ravens is wrong with you? That should have had you hale and hearty within seconds.” he says, and sits on the nearest bench.  
“P-p-panic attack.” the mortal says, as he stands. His eyes are a bright, bright blue. “Are you Loki?”  
“You do know me, then.” Loki decided to ask about this _panic attack_ thing later.

“T-t-tony showed me a picture. Ap-p-parently you tried to take over the world?”  
“Yes- and, I say again, how did you not immediately-”  
“I've been- busy.”   
“Too busy to-”  
“Prisoner, I- he, he, took me, I-” the mortal babbles and Loki is not fixed with any feeling of empathy whatsoever, because he is as a god to these mayflies. Whatever this little man went though cannot be compared to the things Thanos did, he is sure. Even if he avoids troubling them no, simply to avoid more trouble, that does not translate to him being _on their side._ Damnit.  
“Stop talking about it, if it troubles you, so.” he says, and manages to shrug. “I care not what happened. I am bored.” There. That should anger him.Strangely, the mortal smiles. He tilts his head and beams.

“I thought you said you were Loki.” Loki sighs.  
“Yes, doubtless my brother has taught you that that is the very pinnacle of Aesir wit.” The mortal giggles. Loki looks more sharply at him. Now, that iis interesting.  
“Oh.” Loki says then. “I did not realise there were two of you in there. To whom do I speak?”  
“I- we're Charles Francis Xavier.” His fingers fiddle with his shirt cuffs. Loki nods.  
“And what, Charles and Francis Xavier, were you doing to that poor plant, before you dropped it?” Charles and Francis flush, as they regard the shattered plant pot.

“Re potting it. It needs more space for its roots.” one or other of them says. Loki nods, regally. He is reasonably sure that the longer he holds them in conversation, the more chance he has of learning something from this mortal that can be used to annoy Thor or his pets. Also, Thor is possessive, or as he likes to see it, protective of his little friends; Loki would bet his foster father's remaining eye that charming- no magic tricks involved- this little one will infuriate him and the rest of the Avengers with very little effort on Loki's part indeed.  
“So.” he says, leaning forwards and speaking softly, as softly as he would to a hurt hawk, or dog. “Have you always been interested in plants? Either of you?”


	5. Avengers Tower- Three people too many.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, Charles, Francis, Bruce, Thor and Hulk. Mix well, and observe, from a safe distance- possiblly another plane of exisistence.

Francis thinks that Loki is lonely, rather than bored. Charles thinks this clearly shows how much Francis does not understand about the world; but they both enjoy their various conversations with him. Charles is also trying to work out what that burst of greenish light and soothing warmth sinking through their shared and achingly tense bones did to them, and what it _meant._ There's no point in asking Loki; he simply seemed aggrieved that it hadn't restored them to full health; without even knowing what “full health” for Charles and Francis actually _means_.

Charles doesn't know, either, but he doesn't like being at the mercy of powerful beings- people- any more. Francis has finished explaining about his- their efforts at horticulture, and he's feeling tired, now- he never will sleep when Charles does, unless it's unavoidable, and it's affecting both of them. Charles nudges him, and Francis subsides. Loki cocks his head.  
“How are you doing that?” He asks, curiously.  
“What?” Charles says, evasively.  
“Coming and going like that.” Loki says. “How do you shift minds and not bodies?”

Charles blinks. He notices he isn't panicking, and blinks again.  
“We never had more than this one. Francis and I, we're not, not magic.” he says, and tries to work out where some of his- their- terror of other people went, when he wasn't looking.  
“And so?” Loki says. Charles blinks at him, and goes back to finishing off the current plant pot with the repotted geranium. Charles checks. Francis really is asleep.  
“He protects me.” he says, quietly. “It's what he does.”  
“And what do you do for him?”  
“I try and keep us out of trouble.” Charles says. “He steps in if I fail.”  
“And does what?” Loki says. “You are not like that great green destructive beast are you?”

“We like the Hulk.” Charles says. “He doesn't like hurting people.” Loki tuts and stops trying to make the seeds Charles was planning on planting next, sprout through magic.  
“And you have met many of those, I suppose?” Charles blanches, and starts rubbing his wrists, still wrapped in rings of scars.  
“Enough.” he says, ruefully. He _will not_ think of any of them, no, he won't. Loki looks... thoughtful.  
“Do any of them yet live?” he asks next, and Charles grins, humourlessly.  
“We shot the last one. Twice.” Quietly, Loki changes the subject.

Charles is conversing with Loki about magical phenotypes, and whether the genes for magic are likely to be dominant or recessive, when Bruce arrives into the roof garden, slightly dishevelled, which is usual, and out-of-breath, which is not. Francis wakes up and smiles at him. They both like Bruce, for different reasons, and the Hulk, because he does not want to hurt them; he said so when he first erupted out of Bruce in front of them, and because he isn't a separate human person, a bit like Francis, although (Francis says) the Hulk is more real than he is. 

Currently, he is exchanging wary nods with Loki.  
“Hello, Bruce. How did the experiment go?” Bruce sighs.  
“Seems like the lower dose has no effect, even over a sustained length of time.” He's still staring at Loki, though, who is staring back with an almost perfectly innocent expression.  
“Ah.” Charles says, carefully. “Um.” Francis adds, helpfully. The tension in the air is making them both uncomfortable; although it is now where near as bad as it was when Tony had a bone to pick with Steve.

Loki turns his head and smiles at them.  
“Do not trouble your heart, Charles, Francis. This is a petty, old grudge, long since buried. Is it not, Dr Banner?” Bruce grimaces, and whips off his glasses to polish them, even as he nods.  
“You might want to remind Thor of that, though.” he says, just as the God of Thunder crashes to the ground behind his brother.   
“Loki!” he shouts, and he looks angry. Charles wants to whimper. He backs away, instead, nearer Bruce.

“Do you deny me the chance to even talk with your pets, now, brother?” Loki says, and Charles feels his throat close up. Bruce steps up to him, and his eyes look faintly green.  
“N-n-not a pet.” Charles says. “Not.” Francis agrees. The brothers ignore him.  
“Do not try your trickery on Charles Francis, brother!” Thor says, warningly. “He has suffered enough at the hands of-” Loki interrupts, frowning mockingly.  
“He assured _me_ he had shot the last person-” Charles does whimper then, and makes an embarrassing grab for Bruce’s' wrist. Bruce lets him clutch hold like a child with nightmares seeking comfort from a parent.

Francis moves forwards then, even as Charles cringes. Thor is still shouting, but Francis can't follow what he and Loki are arguing about; Charles is too upset.   
“Enough.” Bruce says, loudly, and calmly. He is so calm, it's rolling off him in waves. “Take this... discussion elsewhere.” Both the brothers look at him. Bruce takes a deep breath. His skin has gone faintly green.   
“Now.” It's all he says, but it's all he has to say. Loki sneers that he is not commanded by petty mortals- but he sidesteps between thin air and vanishes hastily when Bruce begins to shift his weight as if he might move towards him

Thor opens his mouth to say something. A thin green and black clad arm appears out of nowhere and yanks him away. Francis looks worriedly after them.  
“Will they be ok?” he says, softly, as Bruce goes a little greener.  
“Thor's actually about the only person Loki's not likely to maim or kill, really.” Bruce says.  
“He didn’t do anything to us.” Francis says. “He stopped me running over the edge of the roof.” Bruce sighs.  
“How long were you talking to him for?”  
“Before I starting running?” Francis says. “Not at all. I... The sun was warm. I wasn't, we weren't.... wearing a shirt. We- I was frightenened.” 

He shuffles his feet a little. Bruce doesn't look angry.  
“Francis?” he says, gently. “Can I ask Charles a question?” Francis shuffles a little more, and lets go of Bruce's wrist.  
“He's sleeping.” Francis says and then yawns. “They scared him. Brothers and everything.”  
“Oh?” Bruce says, carefully.  
“Cain.” Francis says, quickly. Bruce nods, tightly.  
“Did they scare you?” Francis sighs. He's explained this. Over and over. But none of them seem to understand how he and Charles work.  
“I'm not really completely real.” he says again. “It doesn't matter. I look after Charles.”  
“You keep saying that, but-”

“It doesn't hurt as much if you're protecting someone else.” Francis says, again. Bruce must be bored of this conversation, because he goes away then, and the Hulk comes out. His shirt tears off him, but the pants stay on. Carefully, Francis picks up Dr Banners' glasses. He'll need them, later.  
“Hello, Hulk!” Francis says, happily. The Hulk smiles in response.  
“Tiny Francis!” he says loudly. “Need smash?” Francis shakes his head, and the Hulk droops. He likes doing what he's good at, and half the time everyone's trying to stop him. Francis can sympathise.

The Hulk perks up again, after a moment.  
“Need food?” and, actually, Francis does. Francis and Hulk often eat together, because Francis can open the refrigerator without removing the door completely. They eat a lot, and then Hulk accompanies Francis back to his and Charles' room. He likes the beanbags there, and the fact that there's no furniture to break, unless he wants to punch the walls, because the bookshelves are all sunk into them. He never goes in without Charles or Francis' permission, which is amazing.

Francis yawns. His eyes are sore.  
“Sleep.” The Hulk says, mostly gently.  
“I can't.” Francis says. “I- Charles needs protecting. And we have bad dreams.”  
“Francis needs sleep.” The Hulk says, very firmly.   
“I _can't._ ” Francis says, almost tearfully. The Hulk looks at him, and then lies down, next to the biggest bean bag.  
“Sleep.” He says, again. “Hulk watch. Hulk strongest there is.” He smiles. Francis smiles back.

“Hulk smash puny nightmares.” The Hulk says. “Keep you both safe.”  
“Oh.” Francis says. He has to wake Charles for this. They thank the Hulk as they get into pyjamas- the Hulk closes his eyes, when Francis starts to take off his shoes, and won't open them until Charles tells him to for the third time. Francis curls into the friendly beanbag. The Hulk drops all the blankets onto him, burying him alive. Charles claws his way into the open air, and finds Hulk beaming at him.  
“Hulk here” the big green man tells them, again. “Sleep.”

And they do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Charles and Francis talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inwhich Loki is totally just talking to the funny little mortalbecause it annoys Thor. Totally.

“Charles. Francis.” Loki said, clearly into the swirling ether. “I am about to manifest myself into Avengers Tower. Do not throw yourself off it on my account.” Having made this very generous warning, Loki gathered himself, slipped between shadow and shadow, and arrived on the rooftop. He had found an interesting diversion in conversing with the damaged mascot of the Avengers, but he had reluctantly come to realise that Charles Francis needed a few minutes of preparation in order to be worth talking to. It was tiresome, but Loki was gifted in many things. Throwing his voice through the shadows before the rest of him was hardly any more draining a spell than incanting the minor cantrip that would allow them time to converse unobserved. And that, Loki never grudged.

He hoped the warning would be effective; he did not wish to have to snag and haul a struggling and confused pair of falling minds in one body back on to solid ground _again._ Loki tended not to bother with other opinions, but it was a little galling for a being to apparently prefer death to conversation with Loki Liesmith. His eloquence was legendary. This panicky fleeing was wearisome. It also generally tended to make his ensuing conversations with Charles Francis somewhat shorter, and much fuller of other people, especially the great green beast. Not that Loki is afraid of the Hulk. Or ever wanted less of an audience. It was simply… practicality, to warn Charles and Francis of his impending arrival. How was Loki to charm Charles and Francis and so vex their allies, if said allies were lurking about all the time; or the human was too busy panicking to give him a decent conversation? Loki stepped out into the roof garden and the smiling, if nervous, presence of Charles Francis, the only two minded man Loki had met for many long years. 

“What are you doing today, Charles Francis?” he asked, sweetly.  
“Oh, we’re done for the day.” Francis said, as Charles frowned slightly. “We were weeding, but Natasha will be back soon, and she likes it. We don’t, not really.”  
“Ah.” Loki said. “Have you time for conversation?” Charles nodded. Francis gestured at the small patch of lawn. Loki took care to lounge elegantly, at a safe distance from the human. Charles Francis sat, arms round his knees, on the steps.  
“Entertain me.” Loki said, airily, and waved an arm.

Still sitting on the step, without moving a muscle, Charles vanished. Francis looked at Loki reproachfully.  
“I still do not know how you both share like that.” Loki murmured. He propped his chin on his hands, expectantly.  
“Charles can’t hear things like that, yet. They remind him.” Francis said, mildly. “We explained.”  
“That you protect him, yes, but surely-“ Loki was not going to listen to Francis compare him to a miserable mortal, a mere king of a tiny land that had managed to hurt these two defenceless creatures before him. Not again.  
“You are very much more powerful than we are.” Francis said, simply. “And I’m not letting him get hurt again.”  
“The great green beast-“  
“The Hulk.” Francis said, gently.

Loki accepted the name with a nod.  
“He is physically stronger than I, why do you not fear him so?” Francis looked at Loki, patiently. Loki gave him one of his more coaxing smiles. Francis smiled, a little, in response.  
“He’s not…” He paused. Loki waited. “He doesn’t want sex. Not from me, not from anyone. And he, he likes smashing, but only things, or bad people. He likes to protect.”  
“You think I, Loki Skywalker, would want to share my bed with one such as you? A _mortal!_ ” Loki snapped, stung. He was the God of Mischief, of Lies and Fire, not some filthy and feeble _rapist!_ He might seduce, but he would never force- 

Francis shook his head, cringing slightly,  
“N-no, but you want, you want- Charles says, there are legends, about your lovers, your children-“ he broke off, swallowing.  
“Oh.” Loki said, quietly. “Those are mostly just legends.” He added, watching Francis’s hands shake.  
“The Hulk- he’s already strong. The strongest one there is” Francis said, and closed his eyes, hugging himself fiercely. “He doesn’t have to make others hurt, make them weaker, to make himself strong.” Loki’s jaw dropped.  
“I do not do that!” That was Thor’s game, Asgard’s game, to glorify strength at the expense of the weaker, to worship the victor in battle alone. Francis’ eyes opened, steady and almost as blue as Loki’s skin in his Jotun seeming.  
“You could do.” He said. “You have before.” 

The human seemed almost completely calm, Loki thought, apart from the betraying flutter at his throat and temple. Loki tried to smile.  
“You really are very clever.” He said, mock-admiringly. “To listen to Barton’s tales-“ Loki breaks off, telling himself the sick, angry weight in his chest is not _guilt_ , for how he had chosen to carry out his forced attempt at conquest. Loki did not feel guilt.  
“Tony warned us.” Francis said. “Not to talk to Clint about you. He’s never said anything.” He tilted his head to one side. No- Charles tiled the head. Charles is back, now.  
“What d-d-did you d-d-do?” Loki leapt to his feet.

“I HAD NO CHOICE!” he swung round, ignoring Charles and Francis, frozen where they sat, and began to pace.  
“The Other- Thanos- he worshipped Death! He wabted nothing but killing! He, they, they took my _mind_ like? Your mind, your thoughts, not your own, taken and altered at another’s pleasure?!” Charles and Francis both blinked, but it was Charles that answered.  
“You know I- we do.” He said, steadily.

“It’s not the same.” Loki spat, but he stopped pacing quite so wildly.  
“Yes.” Charles said, quietly. “I had Francis. We weren’t alone when-” he paused, and gulped back nausea. “When He tried to m-m-make me hurt p-p-people.”  
“What did you do?”  
“We told you.” Frances said, helping Charles to breathe. “He gave us a gun and then we shot him.” Loki frowned, before smiling.  
“Well, and I suppose I should not do anything so careless as that.” Loki said, brightly. 

“He wanted us to shoot Cain.” Francis said, vaguely. “He knew Cain had... had hurt Charles before.” Loki looked at Francis carefully. With a mental sigh he began building up his supply of healing energy. Again. He had no idea where the paired minds could be _putting_ it all.  
“And who was Cain?” Loki tried to sound bored. “Did you shoot him?”  
“Step brother.” Charles said to his knees. “And no, but I really wanted to.”  
“And what stayed your hand?” Loki said, and snapped the ball of green magic straight at Charles and Francis. Neither tried to duck. Charles drew an easy breath, and Francis smiled, uncurling a little.

“Thank you. Ah; he s-s-said there were three bullets in the gun; and we wanted to be really sure he was going to be dead. Cain was tied up, anyway.” He shrugged.  
“A wise and generous choice.” Loki said, only partially sarcastic. He grew bored with this talk of brothers and guns. He would change the subject, then.  
“How is it; that my magic has so little effect on you?” Charles and Francis blinked at him.  
“Every time.” Loki said, irritated. “I use healing magic on you, I must load the spells with enough energy for an elephant!” He huffed. Francis smiled, shyly. 

“It is like watering the desert!” Loki huffed.  
“It’s very kind of you, to try and heal-“  
“I should not _try._ Loki snapped. “I should just _do_!”   
“Yoda you are not.” Francis said. Loki glared. Hastily, Charles added “There are two of us, you know- does that change anything?”  
“Only one body, though.” Loki said, thoughtfully. “I shall think more on this. Hmmm.”  
“It’s not the body that he hurt the most.” Charles said, and closed his eyes.  
“Charles. Francis.” Loki said, softly. “It is over. He is dead; you are both alive.” Eyes still closed, they nodded.

Loki looked closely as a small flower in the grass, and waited for Charles and Francis to regain their balance. He became aware his concealment spell was beginning to fade.  
“The ghostly guardian has become able to alert the others to my presence.” Loki said. “They are tiresome; I shall not talk with them today.” He said, haughtily, as Natasha prowled out onto the roofgarden. Loki nodded politely  
“Milady Widow.”  
“Loki.” She gave him a slight smile. Loki stepped between shadows and vanished. Natasha switched her focus to Charles and Francis.

“Charles, Francis.” She said, softly. “Did he try to harm you?” Francis shook his head.  
“He never does. He tried healing magic, but he complained it doesn’t have a big effect on me- again.”  
“So.” Natasha said, calmly. “I have been accompanying Colonel Fury to several meetings with Senators today. Did you leave me any weeds?” Charles smiled.  
“We did.”  
“Come and talk to me while I weed.” She said, holding out her hand. Charles and Francis accepted her help up and stood, carefully. Natasha looked at them narrowly.  
“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve been able to bear me touching you like that. Hand on hand.” She pointed out.   
“Oh.” Charles said, slowly. Francis smiled, shyly. “We hope you don’t mind?” Natasha smiled wryly at him.  
“How much of what I mind, do you think I do?”  
“More than you want to.” Charles said, and turned to follow her to the greenhouse.


	7. Loki in Genosha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki goes to Genosha. Hawkeye and the Black widow are holidaying there. This is going to end well.

The woman who called herself Natasha, and was generally known to the world as the Black Widow, sat on the roof of the Palace of Genosha, dangling her feet off the high wall, and listened to the chaos and screaming that drifted from it’s beautiful windows. The sea surges restlessly, far below.  
“One could ask what interest the silver tongued God of lies and mischief has in a small place like Genosha.” She remarked to the empty air.  
“One could ask what interest a pair of “Master Assassins” might have in holidaying in a place where the leader is already dead.” The air responded, cheerfully. Not a muscle moved on the Black Widow’s face as she regarded the empty roof, and answered.  
“And if I said we weren’t after the ringleader?”

“I might say; neither am I. He, I have already dealt with once.” Loki said, as he slid between one shadow and another to appear by her side. Someone began screaming, hysterically, a few floors down.  
“Erik of Genosha is dead.” Natasha said, quietly.  
“Yes, of course.” Loki said. “But as you well know, death is hardly the end of a human spirit.”  
Neither of them mentioned his restoration of Coulson to life, but it lay between them, a slender bridge of understanding.  
“You’re not thinking of bringing _him_ back?” The Black Widow’s tome was almost sharp.

“No.” Loki said, quietly. “But-" he broke off. "Your legends are quite wrong about my relationship to the beautiful Hel, you know.” He smiled, reminiscently.  
“But?”  
“But we have an understanding, she and I. I spoke to her, not long ago. Erik of Genosha is currently under her… most especial care.” Loki said, carefully. “And is like to remain so for, oh, a handful of centuries, at the least. After that… she might grow bored. Might.” He shrugged. Natasha blinked, and decided to ove back to the orginal enquiry, for now.

“Why are you in Genosha?” she said, curtly.  
“Cannot a man such as I enjoy a change of scenery now and then?” Loki regarded her, green eyes guilelessly wide.  
“You are not a man.” Natasha said, flatly. Loki looked hurt. “You are _trouble_ , in an extremely charming package.” Loki grinned. Smoke drifted past the roof, gently.  
“Extremely charming? Natasha Romanova, that is very-”  
“Don’t make me hurt you.” Natasha said, still flatly.  
“Oh very well.” Loki dropped to squat next to her. She turned to look at him, and he leant slightly away. Somehwere within the Palace, a bell began to ring.

“Your mascots.” Loki said, after a pause.  
“Charles Francis.” Natasha said, and did not do anything so obvious as tensing.  
“Yes.” Loki said, cheerfully. “Charles was… trapped here, hurt here; but it was not all by the power of the man he killed.”  
“Lensherr was the King.” Natasha said. Loki nodded.  
“There were others who assisted. I find that… interesting.” He managed to keep his tone carefree. Angry shouts and footsteps thundered along a stairway on the floor below.  
“Interesting?”  
“Either they are weak, spineless creatures, who surely will be needing a strong leader now their own is gone.” Loki said, thoughtfully. “Perhaps a leader who is less… cruel.” 

Natasha said nothing.  
“Or they are strong and wicked beings that delight in the sufferings of those they catch, evil beasts whom any hero should seek to combat.” Loki finished, smoothly. Natasha raised an eyebrow.  
“You see yourself as a hero, now?” Loki’s eyes darkened. He shook his head.  
“Never. To play hero is my brother’s role. _I_ am guile, and wit, chaos and fire. I am _Loki_.” The Black widow did not flinch from hs wrath.  
“And why does guile, and wit, chaos and fire, want to rule a small island on Midgard, then?” she said, calmly.

Loki laughed, suddenly, and his face lightened.  
“You misunderstand me. I do not seek to rule, here. I seek to understand.” He flicked his fingers, dismissively. “There is too much… bureaucracy involved in Midgardian reigns, it seems to me.”  
“Understand.”  
“I have met your mascots.” Loki said, quietly. “Several times.” She nodded. “He is not like the other Midgardians I have known.  
“Tony says he never was.” She murmured. “Even before…”  
“I simply seek to understand those who had a hand in his shaping.” Loki said, mildly.  
“By giving Azazel weeping boils and the compulsion to shout obscene words during his public speeches?”

Loki grinned.  
“But to study another’s reaction under unexpected pressures; that is a fine way of learning about them.” He said, happily. Natasha did not smile.  
“Emma Frost cannot stop screaming.” Natasha said. “What did you do?”  
“She touched him.” Loki said, simply. He did not have to say who he was referring to. “Many times. They did not want her to. She enjoyed that.”  
“Loki…” Natasha looked at him.  
“It’s all right.” Loki protested. “It’s only her sense of touch.” Natasha looked at him some more. “It’s reversible.” He added.

“And will you reverse it soon?” She said, calmly.  
“Not _soon_.” Loki said, thoughtfully, eyes far away. “No, not soon.” She nodded.  
“And, Lady Widow, I know not why you and your archer are here, but…”  
“But?”  
“Consider this: If they are dead, and I do not speak merely of those two, but of all the others who assisted in this… sickness, I cannot study them longer.” Loki said. “And I am very sure that your world would benefit from my gaining a, ah, _deeper_ understanding of humanity.” His smile glittered.

“And if they die, should they expect Hel’s attention?”  
“No. No more so than you yourselves might.” Loki said, smile still knife edge sharp. “Hel does not care for my interests, or those who have interested me. Not as she cares for Erik of Genosha and his kind.”  
“And the Avengers... interest you? I see.”  
“I am so very often bored.” Loki said, laughing. “And you have at least the charm of diversion.”  
“And Charles Francis?” Loki’s laugh stopped.  
“He will never be hers. No more so than my oaf of a brother or any of you.” Loki stopped, suddenly wary.

“Never?”  
“Enough.” Loki stood. “Your chatter eases to be diverting. Also you must be getting a headache from your archer screaming in your ear.” Natasha said nothing. Loki stared at her, seated calmly at the edge of nothing, and swung away, facing the sea, shoulders tense under his black and green armour.  
“Tell your mascot what you please of this affair.” Loki said. “I care not.”  
“Charles and Francis do not like to hear about people being hurt.” Natasha said, gently. “I won’t be telling them about this until they are much stronger. Strong enough to be angry.” Loki nodded, abruptly, and then flickered like a guttering candle, and vanished.

“Hawkeye.” Natasha said, touching her ear. “Quit yelling, we’re done here. Loki has been countered.” 

 

Shortly after that, the rooftop was empty.


	8. A stroll in the park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hulk goes for a stroll, and takes Charles with him. Includes line and images suggested by excepttemption, because.

“Hey.” Tony said, cautiously, raising his faceplate. “Is that… Hulk, why are you _holding_ Charles Francis here?”  
“Hulk hugging.” The Hulk rumbled, strangely quietly. He shifted, slightly, on the large rock he was using as a seat. It did not escape Tony’s notice that the move blocked his view of the apparently sleeping old friend and responsibility the Hulk was cradling in his large green, and fortunately, pants-covered lap like a doll. Tony shuffled sideways, trying to avoid the mud everywhere. The Hulk shot him an unhappy look.  
“IRON MAN QUIET. Tiny Francis asleep.” He said, pointedly, and Tony froze.  
“Sure, sure thing, big guy.” He said softly. Charles made a murmuring noise, but quietened as Hulk petted his face.

“Is- is he ok?”  
“Charles Francis sleep. Hulk protects.” The Hulk said. “Hulk strongest one there is.”  
“Yeah, but right now? We’re… Actually, I don’t know where we are. Lemme get this up on the GPS...” Tony muttered to himself. The Hulk had gone way outside of his usual range.  
“Park.” The Hulk said, helpfully. “Puny Banner took for walk.” He frowned, hugely, his craggy face green and lined with emotion.  
“Bruce did _what?_ ” Steve’s voice came over the com. Tony slapped a hand to his ear automatically. The was a slight metal clang.  
“Took Charles Francis out for a stroll.” Tony reported. “I- we were worried, Big Guy.” The Hulk snorted. “We didn’t know where you all were.”

“Charles Francis needed air. Banner said.” The Hulk looked faintly shifty, which was an odd sight on a face so large and green “Hulk came out to watch. Hulk better at watching than puny Banner. Hulk jumps further.”  
“Doctor Banner knows better than to wander off without leaving a note.” Steve grumbled.  
“Oh boy.” Tony muttered.  
“Report, Iron Man.” Steve said, in Tony’s ear.  
“Ah, well, I guess looks like our lovable resident rage monster has found himself a new toy to talk to on his random tours of America.” Tony said, lightly. Hulk’s eyes narrowed. He cupped one dustbin sized hand protectively around Charles’s ears, which blocked out his entire head from Tony’s view.

“Charles Francis _not toy_. Bad words. Hurt them.” He said, and Tony bit back a curse. Hulk was right; if either Charles or Francis had been awake, that might have caused a panic attack or flashback for sure.  
“You’re right Big Guy, I’m sorry.”  
“DUMB.” The Hulk advised him, and Tony nearly choked.  
Somewhere, Hawkeye was cackling and he didn’t know why.  
“Can you maybe get him to put Charles Francis down?” Steve said. “Jarvis says Hulk took them two hundred miles out of town.” 

“This is not-“ Steve started, but broke off before restarting. “We can send the Quinjet if you can’t fly Charles Francis and Dr Banner out of there.”  
“Yeah, ok.” Tony said, distractedly, as he watched the Hulk move. He stood, slowly, adjusting his grip until Charles Francis lay comfortably in the crook of his arm. Still asleep. Tony shook his head. For all Charles and Francis’ various problems with sleeping, it seemed like once they were out, they were out for the count. At least if the Hulk was around. He spotted the pale vulernable toes dangling under Hulk’s arm, and tensed.  
“Look, Big Green, he’s not got shoes or a coat on-“  
“Lost.” The Hulk confided. “Hulk carry. Hulk keep warm.”

“Yeah, but Hulk?” Tony said, gently. “This is Charles Francis. He doesn’t… he doesn’t like to touch other people’s skin. You know that.” Tony was pretty sure Banner would have explained this to Hulk, somehow. Neither of them wanted to explain the precise reasons as to _why_ Charles couldn’t bear close contact with anyone-  
“Hulk knows _that._ the Hulk said, offended. “Hulk’s skin different. _Hulk_ different. Stronger. Warmer. No bad memories of green. Tiny Francis said.”  
“Huh. How ‘bout that.” Tony said, honestly startled.

The Hulk beamed.  
“Tiny Francis ” he said. “Charles Francis likes hugs; Hulk best there is at hugging him.”  
“Ooookay, so, he’s obviously getting air, and, uh, hugs, I guess, but we really should be heading back, now; it’s gonna be dinner time soon.”  
“Food?” the Hulk perked up.  
“Yeah, that’s right, food, so can I-“ Tony held out his arms. The Hulk scowled, hugging the limply sleeping body of his friend closer.  
“No. You break.” The Hulk said. “Hulk _careful._ ”


	9. Loki and Charles Francis in Asgard. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kernerzelda and I bounced some ideas back and forth and suddenly.. another post-Tourist Avengers Tower story blossomed. Probably be a two-to three parter, but I don;t know when the next chapter will happen as I'm also trying to focus on Getting Better All the Time.
> 
> K, this one's for you!

Charles glanced around the roof, uncertainly. Nothing needed doing in the garden, which was a shame. He didn’t really want to go back inside, not yet. He had agreed to let Tony - well, Pepper, actually, Tony was no good at tact or subtlety outside of the workroom - tell Raven he was still alive. It hadn’t really gone well; she had been overjoyed to learn of Charles’ continued existence, but confused and horrified by Francis’s presence.

Neither of them could tell his sister why Francis had been necessary. Or how he had saved Charles’s life, and his sanity. But that made her angry and sad, and so it was even harder. Now Raven was sitting downstairs with Phil Coulson and Pepper while Phil - he preferred being called Phil - explained PTSD and trauma and other things that clarified Francis, and Charles, and their issues, without setting them off. Again.

So Charles and Francis were here, not so much hiding in the garden, but seeking distractions – and not finding any. Francis wiggled their right foot in the space between two potted miniature tomato plants, nudging a tangle of vines apart.

A light wind blew past them, and the dust in the air made them blink. When their vision cleared, Loki stood before them.

“Loki!” Francis said, happily. Charles sounded more guarded. “Hello.”

“Greetings to you, Charles, Francis. What brings you to the roof today?”

Francis shuffled his feet. Charles looked up at Loki. “Raven knows about us,” he said, without inflection.

Francis dropped his gaze at the ground. “She doesn’t like me,” he told the floor.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Should your sister not rejoice you live?”

“She does,” Charles said. “But - I need Francis, and he needs me. I can’t explain to her, and she won’t listen to Francis...” He trailed off.

Inwardly, Loki sighed. Mortals. They had so little time and they wasted so much of it!

“So, the roof?” he asked at last. Charles nodded.

“So.” Loki said again, and his voice was warm and charming. “Would you care to see Asgard?”

 

Asgard was very shiny, Francis thought. And very, very full of big, cheerful people in gaudy armour and capes, who alarmed Charles, even as he was fascinated by the alien culture. Neither of them were sure they liked the place. A wry tilt of Loki's mouth seemed to indicate his feelings were similarly mixed. But Heimdall's golden eyes had seen both of them, and he had been kind, and stood beyond grabbing or touching distance as he welcomed them and acknowledged Loki.

“Loki.” The speaker was a dark-haired woman. Charles peeked out from behind Loki's elbow carefully. She seemed no more dangerous than any of the other Asgardians, and he recognised her as Sif, who had come to visit Thor at the Tower once or twice. He was slightly less sure of the three men who accompanied her, other than Volstagg, of course. No one could forget Volstagg. He waved cheerfully at Charles and Francis.

“Sif!” Loki swept her an extravagant, mocking bow.

“And just what, Silvertongue-- Hello, Charles, Francis,” Sif said, catching sight of them. “What do you here?”

“Ah - L-Loki invited us.” Charles carefully replied.

“I saw my brother's friends, bereft on the roof.” Loki took over smoothly. “How could I just leave them there, when I could offer them the... hospitality of Asgard?”

“Is it so?” Sif asked. “You are here of your own free will?”

“Yes.” Francis said, softly.

“Here we see I offered him my own hospitality, at that.” Loki said, apparently to no-one. “Seeing as Asgard does not always _ask_ before hosting one.”

Charles swallowed, and retreated into his head a little.

“You are here as a guest.” Sif told them. “Have no fear.” She smiled. “But you both have healed wonderfully well, to be here.”

“Thank you.” Francis bobbed his head, while Loki smiled almost proudly. “Our panic attacks are much less fierce lately.” Sif's eyes softened. One of the three men moved toward Charles, smiling. He wanted to flinch, but Francis held his ground.

“You are Thor's friend, the two in one, are you not? Tell me,” the man purred, smoothing his moustache, “what kind of a beast is a panic attack?”

“Fandral,” Sif warned, sharply. He ignored her and Volstagg's frantic hand waving to prowl closer. 

“I would seek to hunt them. They seem most deadly creatures.” He smiled. Charles couldn't smile back, so he let Francis do it for him. He could see Volstagg and the other, grimly silent man exchange glances. Fandral was too close. He stepped back, carefully, toward Loki. Loki's expression hardened.

“Fandral,” Loki said, voice a silken sliver of ice, “If you so much as think about flirting with or seducing either of the mortal souls in this single body--” He shot them a reassuring glance, and Charles breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I, Loki Silvertongue, master of mischief, lord of misrule and fire, will see to it that _you,_ Fandral, so-called the “Dashing”- his voice made the title an insult - “will never flirt with, lay with or enjoy a romance with any being, living or dead, embodied or immaterial or between states, _ever again._ ”

Fandral froze. Sif _stared._ Volstagg smiled in approval. Even the grim, silent one's lips curved a little, to see Loki, of all people, moved to the defence of a single unimportant mortal companion. He spoke, garnering quick glances from the others. “You set great store by him.”

Loki snorted, thinking furiously. Of course, he was only doing this to annoy Thor and his little hangers-on, those over-reaching mortals that Thor clearly preferred to Loki. If Loki chose to make the little two-soul mortal feel affection for him, or to appear as if he has become fond of the little thing, then it only a joke or a trick not yet ripened to fruition.

“Appear to, at the least.” Fandral said, but his eyes were wary. “Doubtless it is but another trick of his. You should both be careful, mortal.” Charles blinked. Loki fumed. That's what they all thought of him, anyway, was it not? He felt nothing beyond the boredom forced upon him by the limited companionship allowed him by his parole, and thus amused himself at everyone else' expense. Of course.

Charles, under Francis’ protective watchfulness, ventured out his hand. Loki could take it or not, but the gesture was there. Charles could neither harm or help Loki - why, he could hardly harm or help anyone, least of all anyone in Asgard - but he could offer this, that he, at least, was willing to be seen reaching out despite all that Loki had done. _Because_ of all that Loki had done for Charles, and for Francis, for no other reason than that he could.

“It's all right. We know Loki Silvertongue’s purposes are beyond us, and that we are not due his affection save where we serve to amuse.” Francis' smile was genuine and sweet – part sincere humility and placation of those who could hurt them mastered long before, part knowledge that Loki probably didn't regard them with complete indifference, however much he wanted it perceived so. 

Charles had reached out, but Francis could speak for them both, too. “You don't need to worry about things like that. Not that you do.” Charles looked out through Francis' eyes, and smiled, crooked and hopeful, holding out a scarred hand to Loki.

Loki.... couldn't not take it.

Loki was no fool. He knew just how much he had scared, how much he still scares the pair of them. He can hurt both mortal souls so, so easily, with words or magic. He knew how hard enduring physical contact, let alone initiating it, was for Charles, yet there the mortal was, hand outstretched. 

So. In spite of the onlookers, in spite of potential future mockery or weakness revealed - Loki took Charles' hand. Because he was Loki; he was all the things he told Fandral he was, and he _did not care._

Charles Francis' hand was cold in his.

Fandral opened his mouth, and then Hogun stood on his foot. Sif glared at him, and Fandral closed his mouth. No one said anything for a moment. Loki - being Loki - turned his hand under Charles' hand, and slid it slightly along so Charles was able to grip his sleeve rather than be forced to touch his (undoubtedly monstrous) skin. Loki knew neither Charles nor Francis liked the feel of others’ skin against their own.

"You have not yet eaten," he said, ignoring the others’ stares. Let them stare. He didn't care. Loki cared for naught. Charles blinked and nodded. "Then come along." If he sounded weary and impatient, he did not pull or push Charles to follow him, simply headed in the direction of the feasting hall. It was Francis who followed him, he saw, out of the corner of his eye. Charles had stepped backward again.

Charles listened, though, and looked, sharing Francis' senses as they walked. The feasting hall was vast, steamy with smoke and full of large, shouting, drunken Aesir. Loki gave them both a narrow smile as he stopped at the huge, intricately carved doors.

" _You_ may enter without shame or fear, Charles, Francis," he said softly. "This hall is reserved for heroes." Charles baulked - was he going to have to go in alone? Francis bit his lip.

"A-are you--" Loki's expression twisted, and he sneered.

"My arts are not considered heroic. Here. But you endured, and defeated--"

Francis shook his head. "N-no. Th-thank you." he managed to get out as Charles retreated further.

Loki sighed.

"A victory is a victory, mortal. Mortals. You live, and heal, while he decays. 'Tis enough for here." Abruptly, they were both shoved to the side as half a dozen drunken feasters barged from the hall. Loki avoided them easily, slipping away deft as an eel. Francis was, of course, knocked almost off his feet. Loki flicked his fingers, automatically stabilising the staggering mortal with a tendril of green, healing energy.

He spoke, voice silky with charming menace, to the leading drunk. "A moment, if you please." 

“Pardon, little Prince of traitors. Didn't see you or your pet, there." The heavily swaying man bowed mockingly.

Loki's eyes narrowed and he glared.

"Have a care to your weapons," he said sweetly. "If you handle them as badly as you do your limbs." The slightly less drunk... drunks hustled their fellow away. Loki snorted. "Care for them or not, they'll break when next you face a foe," he muttered, and then turned to see Francis, alone. Charles had utterly retreated.

“Oh," Loki murmured, and then jerked his head. "Come. Let us seek out somewhere a little more... peaceful." Francis nodded, stiffly. Being touched, being called a pet again... It was hard. 

Somehow, Loki's sleeve ended up under his fingers again.

"You are no pet of mine or Asgard's." Loki observed to the air. Francis blinked and nodded. "You are healing too well and too fast. My brother had a pet rock, when we were children. It died of neglect, I do believe."

"Rocks can die?" Francis asked, wondering. He poked Charles, wanting him to come and pay attention to this, but Charles was still quivering and wouldn't open his eyes. Loki laughed a little, rueful and soft.

"No. I persuaded him it had, though."

Francis laughed.


	10. Charles and Francis in Asgard part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki finds someone for Charles and Francis to meet who is less likely to freak them out.

The stables of Asgard were every bit as ornate as the rest of the palace; but they smelt reassuringly of real things: horses, hay, and sunlit dust. There was a faint hint of dung, as well; Francis sniffed appreciatively. Charles, still huddled in on himself in their head, had ridden as a child, but Francis had not. This was new to him. The bright-eyed horses put their heads over their stalls and looked at them as they passed.

Neither of them had the courage to ask Loki _why_ the stables appeared to be his immediate second choice when they hadn't wanted to go into the feasting hall unaccompanied. Francis eyed Loki's leather-clad shoulders carefully as the Asgardian - _Jotunn_ \- Charles amended silently - walked ahead of them. They seemed to be set less stiffly now that they were alone, but-

“I am not angry.” Loki spoke to the air as he turned along another row of stalls 

Francis gulped. Ahead of them they could see a huge door built of almost impossibly large planks, set with iron bands marked in intricate swirling patterns. Loki continued, smoothly, “Not with you two. I'd little time for the halls of feasting when I was able to enter them publicly.”

“Um.” Charles said. “I- we're still s-” Loki pulled at the large door, which scraped loudly on the flagstones as it opened. Charles forgot what he'd - they'd - been meaning to say when he saw what lay beyond., in the large loosebox.

A pale many-legged shape stood, half in sunlight pouring from the high windows, and half in dusty shadow. Its eyes glinted. Charles and Francis blinked, and the shape resolved itself slowly.

A horse, but only in the sense that it was horse-shaped - if with twice too many legs - turned its head and _looked_ at them. Firstly at Loki and then - more carefully than either of him were really comfortable with - at Charles Francis. It whickered, and neither Charles nor Francis could account for the sense of sarcastic reproach the horsey noise managed to convey.

Loki snapped something back at it, too fast and softly guilty for Charles or Francis to follow.

“Um.” Charles said, quietly. “L-Loki, is this-?”

“Yes.” Loki sighed. “This is Sleipnir, Odin's war-mount, and he is aware of all the foolish Midgardian legends about his origins.”

“Legends?” Francis asked, interested, before Charles could stop him. Loki glared at him, and Charles hunched his shoulders and stared at the floor, bracing himself. Francis tensed. Loki sighed again. The horse snorted.

Loki moved surprisingly fast for such a tall man. He curled his fingers under Charles and Francis' chin, tipping their face up until they both had to meet his glass-green eyes. Unexpectedly, he smiled.

“I am responsible for his... nature, yes.” Loki said, softly. “But not in the way your stories tell.”

“O-oh.” Charles said, tongue stiff in his mouth. “I-I – we see.” He tried not to shake at the sensation of someone touching him like this, directing his gaze. Francis wrapped himself around Charles tightly in support.

The horse whickered again. Loki dropped his hand as if Charles and Francis were on fire.

“Charles, Francis, my Midgardian...” Did he pause at the next word? They couldn't be sure. “Friends, I present you to the noble... Sleipnir,” he finished, dryly. 

The horse shook its head and blew out a breath.

“Yes, there's two of them.” Loki said, apparently in response to that. He stretched out an inviting arm.

Charles gulped, and Francis smiled hopefully at the giant eight-legged horse with burning eyes.

“Hello,” Francis said cheerfully.

The horse blinked. Then it neighed.

“I- was that words? Because, because, I - we don't speak Horse. Sorry.” Francis said. He shuffled his feet. Charles gulped again. 

The horse gave Loki an incredulous look. 

“No. They're genuinely like that.” Loki shrugged in reply. Francis tilted his head, anxious. Sleipnir took several cautious steps towards them. Francis could feel Charles wanting to flinch as he held them both steady. Loki sidestepped smoothly. Charles gripped his hands together fiercely, determined not to paw at Loki for support. Sleipnir was a person, clearly, but he wasn't - _couldn't_ hurt them as most people could.

Sleipnir blew air through his nostrils, softly. He paused in front of Charles and Francis for a moment, and then paced forward to nudge them gently in the chest. Francis slowly raised a hand. Sleipnir's ears swiveled forward and he whickered, encouragingly. 

“Um.” Somehow, Charles’ right hand, entirely of its own accord, was trailing its fingers through the rough warmth of Sleipnir's mane.The eight-legged horse ducked its head, slowly. Charles ran his fingers down Sleipnir's neck. 

A memory unfolded; Charles, small enough that he had to stand on a box, scratching some other mount the way he was now scratching around Sleipnir's ears.Francis fretted; what if the large, strong war-steed changed its mind about them touching it? Charles could be hurt! He bit his lip.

“One of you is not unfamiliar with horses, I see.”

Loki's voice made them both jump. For a moment they had almost forgotten he was there. Charles looked over guiltily. He could not read the expression on the trickster god's face, but his eyes had softened a little and he sounded wry rather than angry.

“I am bidden to walk with my- with her Majesty Queen Frigga.” Loki went on. “I am not likely to be more than a few turns of the glass; do you take care of them.” 

Charles and Francis realized Loki was speaking of them, to the horse. It could not be denied that Asgard was a... difficult place, but while having a protector was reassuring, what could a protective horse- or horse shaped being- do, against one of the Aesir?  
“I- we don't want to be a bother.” Francis said, carefully.”We can-”

The horse shook its mane out and whinnied, agreeably.   
“Thank you, Sleipnir.” Loki murmured, and slipped into a shadow before Charles or Francis could say anything more. Nervously, they looked at the eight-legged being. Horselike, he stared back at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to RL, mostly a notable attack of my brain weasels, I've sort of dropped off the radar. Sorry, everyone.
> 
> As you can see, this chapter means i'm back writing fic, albeit much much more slowly than before. ]
> 
> I am aware of all my WIPS, yes, and I intend to write more for all of them, just... slowly. Your patience is appreciated in this matter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Francis spend time with Sleipnir.
> 
> It doesn't go completely badly.

“-Then said the wise wizard: For what reason do you seek my aid?” Charles broke off and coughed. Behind him, Sleipnir snorted a question.

“Just a little dust,” Francis said, softly. “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” The horse nudged his shoulder gently in reply. Francis turned back to the large book he held spread open over his and Charles’ knees.

Sleipnir liked books. That was not so surprising once you factored in his relationship with Loki, and his sentience, but of course, he had no thumbs or easy way of accessing the beautifully decorated texts that someone - possibly Loki, maybe Frigga - had placed in his stall. Charles had been happy to volunteer his thumbs in the cause of reading, and his voice, too.

Sleipnir nudged them again.

“Sorry.” Francis drew breath to continue the Asgardian legend. Charles leaned back a little. Sleipnir was warm, and the straw under them was comfortable enough. He worried about Sleipnir’s legs though. He couldn’t quite work out how he’d folded them all up when he sat.

Francis coughed again, and read on. Idly, Charles wondered how long “a few turns of the glass” was in Earth time. He didn’t _think_ Loki would forget about him completely, but he was getting hungry, now - and Charles was more than a little thirsty, what with all the reading aloud he was doing.

“Do you know if there's, um, a tap or a pump or a trough near here?” Francis asked, when he came to the end of the chapter. Sleipnir snorted, curious. Francis touched his throat, and the horse he was leaning on shifted. Charles scrambled sideways hastily; he'd told Francis Sleipnir might not want to be a backrest, even if it meant he could look closely at the book while they sat down.

“Sorry.” They turned to see Sleipnir gazing at them, faint puzzlement in his eyes. “For, for the leaning--” Sleinpir shook his head and began to climb to his many many feet.

“Oh,” Francis said, quietly. Perhaps he - they hadn't been uncomfortable?

It had been nice, the sensation of being close to another living being. One that didn't want to hurt him; one that was warm and breathing, yet didn't feel too triggeringly human. Charles and Francis could just about bear being hugged or touched affectionately by the Hulk; usally no one else could do it without causing them flashbacks.

Not even Raven, another reason they'd headed to the roof while Coulson and the others explained things to her.

Sleipnir ambled toward the door; Charles and Francis followed him.

“”Should I - does that need, um, thumbs?” Francis asked. Sleipnir glanced back at him, and tugged at the door handle with his teeth. The vast door swung open smoothly.

“Oh. I see.” Charles craned his neck, peering at the intricate patterns on the doors as he walked after his horse-shaped guide.

“What - who are you, and how did you come to be here?” Charles turned in the direction of the angry voice. A tall, auburn-haired man, dressed in plain leather and linen, stalked toward them. Francis felt Charles freeze. He didn't look anything like... like Erik, he only had the same colouring.

 _And besides,_ he reminded Charles, a little desperately, _We **know** he's dead._

“We-- Loki invited us.” Francis blurted out, as the other man stalked closer. His eyes were grey, and he was frowning. His right hand had curled into a fist, and, like most of the Aesir- and many humans, for that matter- he was much taller than Charles and Francis.

Sleipnir whinnied, quietly. The stranger glanced aside at him briefly before frowning even more.

“The Prince of Traitors?” He sounded disgusted. “Neither of you should be here.”

“We were invited.” Charles squared his shoulders, and Francis tried very hard to keep their knees from wobbling. “By Loki to Asgard, and here. Sleipnir made me welcome also.” The stranger frowned. Charles tried not to lean toward Sleipnir.

“Still, I say, you should not be here. This is--”

“I am allowed to be here,” Charles said more firmly. “Allowed and invited. Why are you so sure I am not?”

The clip of Sleipnir's hooves sounded very loud hitting the flagged floor as he took one step toward Charles, and then another. His warm bulk at their back straightened Charles's spine and Francis felt the nudge from his nose as a gentle reminder of support.

The tall stranger ran a hand through his hair and shot an uncertain glance at them all.

“Well, and what were you looking for? Don't lie, you were looking for something.”

“Water.” Francis said. “Sleipnir knows the way, we think.” Sleipnir stepped forward again, forcing Charles and Francis to move, too. The auburn-haired Aesir didn't step aside.

Charles swallowed. Francis kept them walking; but they were too close. Their shoulder brushed the stranger's arm, which shot out and grabbed them, punishingly hard. Charles curled into a ball inside their head, whimpering. Francis wrapped himself around the fear-filled huddle and braced himself for pain. The stranger kept talking.

“I cannot stop you; but know that if Sleipnir-” the horse snorted, indignantly “-or Asgard comes to harm through you, I will _repay_.” He breathed the last sentence into Francis' face. Francis said nothing in reply.

Sleipnir trumpeted a challenge and reared. Pivoting, he crashed his hooves to the ground between Francis and the threatening stranger, who stumbled back a few paces, startled. Francis ignored them both. He was too busy trying to stop Charles from hyperventilating.

A soft nudge to his bowed and heaving shoulders made Francis leap back, trembling. He looked up to see Sleipnir gazing at him, eyes deep with sadness. The tall stranger was nowhere to be seen. Francis tried to smile at him, but their face was too numb.

“S-sorry,” he said. “I- we were startled, we'll-” He shivered, swaying.

Sleipnir shoved his head under Francis' hand, and raised it. Francis's hand clenched gratefully in the wiry warmth of his mane.

“I - you don;t mind us leaning on you?” Charles faltered out. “Only - my knees seem to be a bit -” Sleipnir stood very still. He snorted softly, waiting for Charles and Francis to gather themselves with his support.

Then he moved off, leading Charles and Francis away a slow, patient step at a time.


	12. Charles, Loki and Frigga in Asgard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which food is eaten and many things are said, some of them aloud. And Frigga thinks ahead (of Loki).

Candlelight gleamed on walls and hangings, reflecting soft golden warmth and prosperity. The food was excellent. Presented by soft-footed serving maids on exquisitely worked dishes in a hall fit indeed for kings of Asgard, it complemented the evening's atmosphere, nourishing and strengthening the guests invited without distracting from the merry talk. But then, the gracious hostess was practised at making guests welcome. Even such disparate and unusual ones as she had at her board tonight.

Loki Silvertongue, Loki Liesmith, who mortals had believed to be a god in centuries past, shifted slightly and tried not to slump in his seat. Charles and Francis - _his_ \- guests didn’t even notice their host’s dissatisfaction, being too busy talking to Frigga, Queen of Asgard.

She was smiling at them.

Not the gracious, charming, false smile of royalty that everyone of Loki’s - that all of the members of Asgard’s royal house could show without effort or thought, but a genuine smile. Loki recognised it of old, though he had seen it little since he and his - since he and Thor had grown past her in height. 

Loki regarded his plate, and reminded himself he had intended this: his twin-souled mortal's comfort and interest in Asgard. He had been determined it would be himself who showed Charles and Francis the Realm Eternal, not his oafish - not the crown prince. 

At some point he would indeed find a way to steal one of Idunn-healer's golden apples to see if _that_ most precious and potent piece of Asgardian healing skill would work where his own spells did not, where Charles and Francis were concerned. He had merely been scouting the ground today; not making a , _real_ attempt at stealing one.

“What? Not even her own?” Frigga looked shocked. Charles and Francis looked worried and anxious. Loki hastily re-ran their last few minutes of conversation through his memory. 

The Queen of Asgard had made some queries touching Midgardian mothers - and Charles had pled ignorance.

“I don't think Sharon was ever very interested in children,” he'd said. Francis had nodded. And Frigga had blurted out her shock as gracelessly as an unpracticed mortal.

“I-” Charles hunched his shoulders, Francis straightened them. “No, not really. Does that never happen here?” 

“Given that the world of women on Asgard usually revolves around the hearth and the home,” Loki said crisply; “They do not often get a chance to abandon or neglect children given to them.”

“And the idea that they would want to...” Frigga trailed off. She smiled at Charles and Francis again. “I am sorry, I did not intend to put you to distress. But to think of a child... any child, mistreated or unwanted-”

“Even an abandoned and useless Jotunn babe,” Loki murmured, almost to himself. His mother smiled at him.

“Babies are never useless, love,” she said quietly. “Helpless, perhaps.” Charles and Francis looked down at their empty plate. The Queen of Asgard continued speaking, and she was smiling. “Noisy, hungry and messy, certainly, but no one should ever consider them useless. Or useful.”

“Something else Asgard does better than Midgard, then,” Charles said, very quietly, and as if he was trying to sound amused. Loki wondered if the wounds their mother had clearly opened in Charles and Francis as children were the only ones that had laid him so open to his tormentor, or if there were other mortals he would need to consider besides this Sharon Xavier and Cain Marko. 

“Not always.” Frigga’s eyes held clear regrets. Loki decided to ignore them. 

Charles and Francis opened their mouth; Loki cut across whatever their questions might have been to ask one of his own.

“Charles studies the inheritance of blood traits.” 

“Genetics,” Charles said. Frigga nodded.

“Do you know of any texts on such that might be available to him in Asgard?” Loki pressed on.

Charles' mouth fell open again. “Oh, I wouldn't-” he said hastily, clearly worried about overstepping. “We- I don't want to be a bother-”

“You are not a bother. You are a guest of the royal house of Asgard.” Frigga said firmly.

“I thought he was _my_ guest,” Loki muttered.

“Just so. My son.” Frigga eyed him pointedly. 

Charles and Francis looked from one Asgardian to another, puzzled and worried again. Hidden below the table, their hands wrapped around each other tensely. Loki flashed them a reassuring smile, and waited for the maidservants to finish clearing the remains of the last course from the table.

“I believe that there are one or two introductory texts you might find diverting, Professor.” Frigga spoke softly, and Charles tried to smile. “If my son would be willing to place a spell of translation on them that works in Midgard?”

“I... would.” Loki coughed. “It is not much different that the spells I place on Sleipnir's books.”

“They're enchanted?” Francis tilted his head. “Apart from being in English,” Charles added. Loki grinned.

“Oh yes,” he said brightly. “Did you not notice they read themselves aloud?” Charles and Francis shook their head. Frigga pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding a smile as Loki blinked. “He let you read to him all that time without telling you?” Sheepishly, Charles and Francis nodded.

“That's why w-we went looking for water.” Francis spoke to the table, rather than his hosts.

“Ah, yes,” Loki said sharply. “Which reminds me.” He turned to Frigga even as Charles and Francis began to signal at him urgently. “I know the... opinions of most of Asgard toward _me_ are far from positive. Nor can I blame them who hold such. But when such ill feeling spills out onto our guests, and-”

“It - it wasn't his fault.” Francis said, soft but firm. “He - he couldn't know-” Frigga regarded her guests and her son, fascinated.

“That you meant no harm and could do none? That you were a guest here and deserving of all his courtesy? _Yes, he could_.” Loki said, icy and certain.

“That he - he looked like. Like him. He didn't mean to hurt me, he just grabbed us.” Francis swallowed. “That was, was why-” he broke off, his breathing unsteady. 

Frigga looked at him in concern, and glanced a question at Loki. He shook his head. This was far from the most troubled he had seen them, and he rather thought healing spells were probably best avoided, for now. He did not want to risk them developing a resistance, after all.

“Francis. Charles.” Loki spoke in the calm firm tone he had noted was most easily heard by the pair when either began to edge into this state. “You are in Asgard. Your tormentor is dead.”

“And you are a guest here; under the protection of the royal house.” Frigga’s voice was like the mellowest of hunting horns. Charles and Francis blinked at her, as their breathing began to slow.

“Sorry,” Francis mumbled. “We-I - did not mean to-” Charles spoke a little more clearly. 

The Queen of Asgard waved their apologies away as a maidservant re-entered, carrying a large platter of fruit. 

“Come, let us speak of more pleasant things.” Frigga was smiling again, a deep and mysterious smile; the one, Loki remembered warily, that always made the Allfather's forehead crease. “Such as dessert.” Loki sat up sharply. Frigga gestured to the servant, who bobbed a curtsey. Shyly, the girl set the platter in front of the Queen before hastening out with another curtsey.

Frigga reached out, and appearing nothing more than casual, selected a golden apple. She cut it in half with her silver pocket knife, the one Loki had given her as a Midwinter gift ages past, when he was still a boy. She set aside the seeds with care and put both halves on separate plates, which she placed before Charles and Francis.

“Help yourself, my son,” she said to Loki. “They have brought enough for all of us.” Mechanically, Loki reached out and took an apple. He bit and chewed slowly, watching Charles and Francis.

Charles tried to remember. There was something about apples in Norse mythology; but he couldn't quite recall the details... and anyway, Loki was always quick to remind him how little those legends had got right. The apple smelt mouthwatering. Even after the large meal, he and Francis both found their halves tempting. 

_It was kind of her to give us both a piece,_ Francis said, silently. _We don't want to appear rude._ Charles agreed. _Not in front of Loki's family._ Charles picked up his half, and bit into it. The juice squirted over his tongue, perfectly tart-sweet, as if the apple had been plucked from the tree a moment before.

“This is delicious,” Charles said, when his mouth was clear again. Francis reached out for his half as his other self spoke.

The Queen of Asgard smiled.


End file.
